The sun had shown in the window, just at the right angle to hit Bryce in his eyes. With his eyes squinting he had difficulty adjusting to the harshness of reality. As he struggled to gain focus over his senses again, the heat of the summer had all but overwhelmed him. Kicking the covers off him, he let his left hand glide across his abs, feeling a slick glossy coat that had developed from the heat. Bryce had propped himself up, moving his legs to the side of the bed. Rubbing his hands in his eyes, he stretched his legs outward as if to push the sleep from his body.

Walking over to the window, Bryce had pushed his fingers between the blinds forcing them open to allow his eyes to take a peek at the passing mailman. The post came fairly early in the morning, the latest Bryce had ever received it was by ten. Bryce liked to shower in the evening so he could sleep in later in the morning. The pile on the ground was growing larger; with so many hours at his job he hardly found time to take care of his responsibilities anymore. On the nightstand, his cell phone sat glowing with a message indicator. Seven new texts from his various interests. It wasn't uncommon for him to have this many and he usually answered them by the morning's end. All the admirers were boring though. Nothing excited him like it used to. His life had grown all but mundane; the same clubs, the same routine, the same people. He grew comfortable in his complacency

Bryce rifled through the pile of dirty clothes for a pair of work clothes that seemed presentable and put them on. He hated the way Khaki pants looked on him, but it was work and while he was at Cal State he wasn't going to turn down a good job. The summer was busy so he elected for online courses, which let him have more flexibility with his schedule. The commute around Carmel was so terrible that going to class and going to work straight after would've been a nightmare. As he placed his feet through the already worn Khaki's, he checked himself in the full length mirror positioned in the corner. They seemed acceptable; few creases, no coffee stains. Over on his dresser laid his wallet, which he quickly placed in his pocket before going to the nightstand and grabbing his cell phone again. Bryce walked over to the closet on the other side of the room, pulling out one of the many Polo's that had lined the top row. With his hand slowly picking through the rainbow assortment, he vied for darker colors to contrast with his fair skin and blonde hair. Today, an navy color to compliment his stunning ice blue eyes.

As he pulled the shirt over his head and broad shoulders he walked to the bathroom, across the hallway. Bryce looked at the reflection in the mirror, hardly recognizing the image within it. After his father fell ill a few months ago it was as if the innocence was taken from him. Bryce never knew his mother and without any siblings, he was the one taking care of his father's affairs along with his own. The partying had died down and his grades were suffering. At times Bryce felt stretched so thin that he could do nothing but weep. Living in this apartment by the water was enough to escape to for awhile, but he could never be away from his father for too long in case an emergency arose.

Bryce opened the cabinet, stretching his arm outwards he grabbed a small pill bottle residing on the second shelf. Across the label was Bryce's doctor, the same as his father's. Paid ridiculous amounts of money just to write prescriptions for every little problem that arose. The label also read, "Restoril", used for the tightness in Bryce's chest for when his problems seemed to overtake him. The prescription came after his father collapsed the first time. It was difficult for Bryce to negotiate the possibility that he was loosing the only family he had. After swallowing the two diamond shaped pills he reached back into the cabinet for the tube of hair gel. The fluid glided across his hands easily and he put it in his hair, making sure to distribute it evenly and place each hair perfectly.

After brushing his teeth he walked into the living room, which was connected openly to the kitchen. The design was probably to save space and make the living areas more functional. It wasn't even afternoon yet and the heat was already overwhelming. Money was a bit tight, his father, as much as he loved him, kept his fortune to himself. The air conditioning was rarely on because of the tight constraint on his wallet and it was showing as he grabbed his shirt and fluffed it against his chest to cool himself. The keys to his car were on a hook hanging before the door. After slipping on his favorite pair of converse he grabbed them and motioned for the door.

As he grabbed the doorknob, he felt a vibration in his pocket. Bryce fumbled through his pockets trying to find the source; his cell phone. Grasping it, he did a motion that he practiced numerous times a day, flipping it open as he brought it to his face. The number had come up so many times that he felt compelled to program it in his phone.

"Doctor Pavel, Hi, what's going on?," he asked as he motioned towards the door again, stepping into the sunlight. Bryce felt the full impact of the heat now that his tiny town apartment was no longer shielding him from the onslaught of the sun.

"Um, Mr. Rayhill, your father's condition seems to be getting worse," the gravelly voice on the other side of the receiver had all but become second nature to him, "I'm not sure how much longer he can hold on."

Bryce had this conversation numerous times, it didn't phase him much anymore, "Ok, so what can I do now?"

"Well, you already took care of his affairs when he first collapsed, should he pass, we'll just need you to come down to the hospital to sign the release papers," his cold tone irritated Bryce as he walked down the sidewalk to his vehicle; just because the doctor dealt with death hundreds of times a year didn't mean that he had.

Bryce fingered the keys to open the lock on his vehicle, "And do you expect that to happen?"

"We're not sure what's going to happen at this point," the voice responded, calculated and cold, "we just needed to inform you of his condition."

"Thanks," the tone in his voice didn't go unnoticed by the doctor as he slammed his cell phone shut and climbed into his car.

Bryce sat, staring at the steering wheel. It was impossible to hold his composure; he buried his head within his hands and sobbed. What twenty-two year old has to take care of these affairs? The cries were muffled by his hands, yet the noise was haunting and loud. It took a few moments for him to gain his composure. After wiping the tears from his eyes, he reached his hand forward and turned the key in the ignition.

The traffic was awful, as usual and Bryce was glad that he left early. It was amazing how long it took to get to work, considering he didn't live that far from it. An iPod was plugged directly into his car, playing an unknown indie rock band. The music pulsed through him using the vibrations in his steering wheel. Bryce had pulled up to his work, late as usual. The back door entrance was open to let the heat of the kitchen escape into the air outside. Storming in, he quickly threw on an apron that had been hanging on a hook by the door and clocked in.

"You're late," a voice from behind him chimed as he turned around to meet the voice, "C'mon, Bryce, I really like you, don't give me a reason to fire you."

Bryce's eyes locked with the girl across from him. She was shorter than him by almost a foot, which, even though he stood six foot tall, was still short by any normal means. Her beautiful brunette hair was pulled tightly back in a bun and her green eyes were locked on him, making him nervous, "I'm sorry Tara, I'll stay after my shift to make up for it"

"Yeah, yeah, get out there," she said, repeating their daily routine, before smacking him on the butt on his way out to the front, "And tell Dylan that he can go now that you're here."

* * *

The clanking of silverware could be heard throughout the café. Hustling waitresses took notice of empty cups while securing tips and bussing tables. The Corkscrew was a small establishment in the otherwise large world of Carmel. It was where the boys often came to have breakfast when they needed to have a serious conversation with each other. In the center of the café, they sat across from each other; heads buried in their menus even though they had visited so many times that they had it memorized anyway. The man on the left was noticeably older; he had closed his menu and put it on the table. The younger was still reading, as if to decipher a complex lost language.

"Have you decided yet, looks like the waiter is coming back around. I think he's getting impatient."

The younger had placed his menu down on the table, "Yah, I guess."

A young brunette had walked up to the table; he was charming and very good looking. "Hi, are you ready to order? I'm sorry to press but we're swamped."

Blake, the eldest, felt his gaze linger on the waiter. Brushing his hand across his day old stubble, he forced himself to lock eyes with the young man, "I think we're ready,"

The waiter had taken out his pen and notepad, ready to scribble the order across its surface. As Blake had opened his mouth to order, he noticed a tall blonde walking over to the table. The blonde had whispered into the waiter's ear and the waiter nodded acknowledging what he was saying. The youngest looked at him, mesmerized. A strange magnetism drew him to the new waiter. As if something was pulling his attention towards him.

"Well, um, look's like my friend Bryce will be taking over my tables. You're in good hands," said the waiter as he begun unfastening his apron. "Have a good day"

As the waiter walked away, Blake held his hand up with his index finger pointed to the sky, "But, uh, UH," but it was too late, the waiter couldn't hear him over the bustle of the Café.

The younger laughed, "Looks like you missed your chance, Blake. Better luck next time."

Blake shot the boy a nasty look, "Shut up, Brett," he snorted, turning to Bryce, "Your friend, what's the story on him?"

"Who? Oh, Dylan?," Bryce inquired, "Um, he's pretty chill, but he's got someone already, sorry."

Blake's face had turned, as if he had swallowed a sour candy. Brett turned slightly, so that his gaze met with Bryce's, "and what about you?"

Brett could notice his face flushing; a slight pink tint was all but noticeable on Bryce's fair skin. "Um, are you ready to order?"

Blake smiled, seeing his brother get shot down, "Yes, I'll take the Club BLT with the house soup and can I get a side of horseradish?"

Bryce nodded, turning on his heel to face Brett, "And for you?"

"The chicken fajita wrap with French fries, please", he smiled, "And perhaps a time I can meet you for drinks?"

Blake laughed, "He's joking, see, he's not even 21 yet. Sorry to disturb you."

"Your order should be up in a bit," Bryce said, walking away. Brett waited for the waiter to get out of earshot before turning his head fiercely.

"You didn't have to do that, jerk," he said, dejected.

"What? He's not even your type."

"So? I wanted to get to know him." Brett countered.

Blake shook off the argument; he knew that Brett wasn't too serious otherwise they would've started lobbing insults by now, "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

Brett's playful demeanor had changed. He took a sip from his water, "I think Mom is in trouble,"

Blake leaned in, "What? Why?"

Blake was left out of the loop more and more these days. Ever since he graduated college his life has seemed so busy and he hardly had time to keep up with his family. Blake and Brett would text each other but his mom was technologically incompetent. When the boys did text each other, it was always about a cute barista or if Brett could borrow money or stay over. Their mother was usually pretty level headed so upon hearing that his mom might be in trouble worried Blake, it had to be something big to make Brett request a lunch date to discuss it.

"Mom has been getting these strange phone calls. At first they didn't seem like a big deal," Brett said, looking down at the glass of water cupped within his hands, "But they started coming in at all times of the night."

"Well, who was it? Do you know?"

Brett shook his head, "No, the caller ID on the house phone didn't recognize it."

"So what makes you think that Mom's in trouble?"

"Well, she would always get really upset, you know? And soon she started crying when she got off the phone and she would always be yelling"

"That still doesn't ex-"

"I know, but last night was different. Mom came to my room and said I should stay with you for awhile"

Blake raised an eyebrow, "That's strange, she didn't mention anything to me"

"Yeah, and she wouldn't tell me why. I said it would be hard pressing to have you give up space for no reason"

Blake made another sour face, "You know you're always welcome to stay with me, Brett"

"No, I know, it's just strange. You know? I'm worried."

"How about I go buy you something nice after lunch to take your mind off of things and we'll go talk to Mom afterwards?"

Brett laughed, "It would help take my mind off of things."

The boys sat for awhile, talking to each other. Blake inquired about how Brett was doing in school and Brett caught up on how Blake's job as a health crisis coordinator was going. The brothers had always been close growing up, despite their four year age difference. With Blake finally out of the house, it wasn't often that they got to catch up like this. Brett was always intimidated by his brother because he was so motivated and driven.

Brett was in his sophomore year in school and was still unsure of what degree he had hoped to pursue. Blake knew what he had wanted to do since he was a sophomore in high school and it was that drive that always made him the favorite in his mother's eyes. Brett knew that she favored Blake, although it never really bothered him. The brothers were treated equally in every respect; money, attention, but something still sat funny when it came to how his mother felt about both of them.

Blake looked up and noticed their waiting walking out with their tray, "Hey, Brett, it's your lover boy,"

Brett turned around and caught the waiter in his peripheral. Bryce made his way over to the table. "Club BLT, house soup and a side of horseradish," he placed one of the plates down on the table before grabbing the second plate, "And a chicken fajita wrap with fries,"

Bryce had placed the plate on the table leaning in such a way that he dropped his empty tray to the ground on accident.

"Here, let me get that for you," Brett said, leaning over to reach for the tray. As he came back up he motioned towards Bryce and as he passed it off, his hand grazed Bryce's.

A bright flash of light flooded Brett's head.

"Doctor, blood pressure's dropping,"

"Grab the paddles and charge. Clear!"

The paddles were placed upon an older man. A loud popping noise was heard as his chest bounced into the air, lifeless

"Clear!", the doctor shouted again, applying pressure to the chest.

The body bounced one more, showing no signs of resuscitating.

"…We've lost him, call it, 11:24am"

The image left Brett's head, forcing him to re-evaluate the situation. He panicked, grabbing onto the arms of his seat and forcing himself out of his chair, knocking the table with his knee accompanied a loud clanging from the dishes on the table. The people around him turned to the direction to see what the commotion was.

"Oh shit, oh my god," he said, his heart still racing.

Blake got up and walked over to him, Bryce standing there with a worried look, unsure of what to do.

Blake took hold of his brother by the shoulders and looked into his face, "Brett, look at me, what's wrong?"

Brett breathed heavily and looked Blake square in the eyes, "I don't know, I just saw something and I…"

"What do you mean you saw something?"

Bryce stared at the brothers, not sure of what happened, "Is there something I can get you?"

Brett shook his head, no longer drawn to Bryce. Instead he felt ill and his ears were ringing.

"Thank you," Blake said, "He should be ok, I think he's just light headed"

Bryce reluctantly retreated back to the kitchen, leaving the brothers standing at the table.

"Here, sit down," Blake said, pulling out the chair for him to sit on. Brett sat down still frazzled from the images that played in his head so fervently. Blake went back to his own seat and stared at his brother, unsure of what to make of the situation, "What was that about?"

Brett had one hand on his forehead, "I'm not sure…one second I was here and the next I was in a hospital room watching some guy die"

"What?" Blake inquired, with an alarm noticeable in his tone

Brett shook his head again, "I'm not sure what it was, I just know he died and the doctors couldn't resuscitate him"

"Are you ok? You collapsed when it happened"

"I feel ok, I just don't know what the hell that was about…"

"Was there anything else?"

Brett furrowed his brow in thought, "Come to think of it, the doctor did say the time… 11:24"

"Um," Blake said, looking at the watch attached to his wrist, "It's 11:40 now"

"What does that mean?"

Blake shrugged, "I'm not sure, honey"

The brothers sat there for awhile mustering up the strength to eat their food, unsure of what to say to each other. The food was difficult to eat for Brett, the image of the hospital was so strong in his mind still and it was severely hindering his normally bottomless stomach. Blake was unsure of how to act, as an older brother he was supposed to be able to solve these problems. This was so far outside the realm of what he had dealt with, however, so it left him feeling disappointed and without words to offer to Brett.

They had been so distracted by the thoughts swirling in their head, they didn't notice the young girl standing at the table, "Um, excuse me, is there anything I can get you?"

Brett looked up, looking at the girl, "What happened to Bryce?"

"Oh, um, something came up; I said I'd cover his tables."

Blake looked over at Brett, noticing his disappointment, "Just a couple boxes and our check, please"

The girl nodded and turned on her heel. Blake didn't break his gaze on his little brother. What was going on with his family? His mother taking strange phone calls, his brother seeing people die. Blake pushed it from his mind, "Hey, kiddo, let's go to the boardwalk. It'll take our minds off of whatever's going on"

Brett nodded mindlessly, "Sure"

The food had been boxed up and Blake had whipped out his wallet, using one of several cards to pay for the meal they had. It made him happy to pay for Brett and anyone, really, for that matter. Money was such a trivial thing to him, that if it made other people happy, he didn't see why he couldn't provide for his loved ones. Brett was distant, not saying much as the car ride had led them into mid-day traffic.

As they sat there, Blake looked over at Brett in the passengers' seat. He took his hand off the clutch and reached over to take hold of Brett's, "Hey, kiddo, try and cheer up, ok?"

Brett took his hand from his brother's, "I'll be fine,"

"Hey, don't act like that; I just don't like seeing you like this"

"Don't tell me how to feel, Blake, You didn't see what I saw, ok?"

"How do you even know what you saw was real?"

"I don't know, alright!?", his voice louder, drawing the attention of other cars nearby that had also come to a stop in their lanes. The topless Volkswagen they had been riding in gave the surrounding cars the perfect seat to listen to the argument, "What I saw was real. It felt… real… and I don't know what to do."

Blake looked forward, "…I'm sorry, and I didn't mean to discredit what you were feeling. I'm just confused"

Brett had nodded his head with a tear falling down his cheek. The last time he had experienced someone dying was his father five years back and it was a memory he thought he had dealt with. The car ride was tense. Brett felt bad for yelling at his brother but the last day had really messed with him. When they finally negotiated parking downtown, they got out and started walking towards the shops. All of them were small and privately owned; which was part of the charm about this part of the city that kept the brothers returning.

Wandering in and out of the shops, the brothers found small things along the way that struck a chord. Brett had picked out a pair of Italian Loafers from Hedi's, a local shoe store. They were marked down to 170$ and Blake footed the bill. There was also a matching belt picked out at a different vendor and Blake had picked up a new Bluetooth for his phone. A wandering ice cream man had sold them two popsicles and Blake could see Brett's foul mood wavering along with his checkbook.

After perusing a couple more shops, the brother's had walked into Michael Sherman's, a jewelry store. The pieces were magnificent and the inlays were perfect. The jeweler took great care of their pieces. The rings and necklaces made their eyes light up with the same sparkle that had shown in the diamonds. There was a small section dedicated to exotic jewelry. Some was imported; some was fashion in the store. Blake could feel his body pulling him to it. Brett had peeled away from the necklaces on the far wall and had joined his brother.

A man had stepped from the back, he was older with glasses and white hair to compliment, "Hello, gentlemen, how's your day treating you?"

"Better now that we've had some time to relax," Blake had answered, "Are these your only pieces?"

"Well, no, we have more, what is it exactly that you're looking for?"

"We're not, I just love your pieces, and they're gorgeous."

The man chuckled, "Well, I got some new pieces in today that I just evaluated and haven't placed out in the display yet, would you like to see them?"

Blake looked over at Brett and saw him nod, "Yes, please, if it's not a hassle"

"Oh, no hassle," he replied, reaching below the case where the boys couldn't see. When he came back up, he had a tray of beautiful rings of various shapes and colors. Different inlays adorned them and all shimmered brilliantly under the display lights of the store. There was one ring, right in the middle that caught Brett's attention.

"Blake, can I see that one?" he pointed to a gold band inlaid with a round black object

"It's not my store," he chuckled, motioning to the storekeeper.

The jeweler grabbed the ring and handed it to Brett, "Here, it really is a beautiful piece. We imported it from Tahiti. It's inlaid with a rare Tahitian black pearl. There aren't many like it,"

Brett slipped it on his ring finger; it glided perfectly and rested between his knuckles comfortably.

"It's beautiful," Brett said, "How much is it?"

The jeweler frowned, "I'm sure it's a bit expensive for you kids, because of its rarity. Four thousand, eight hundred."

Brett's face turned, looking down at the beautiful piece on his finger. Brett slowly slipped it off his finger, "It's beautiful,"

Blake got that turning feeling in his stomach. The feeling that his brain and his heart were battling within him. One was losing, badly, "Wait,"

Brett looked over at him, Blake shook his head and rolled his eyes into the back of his head, "We'll take it"

Brett looked over at him, his face frozen with shock, "Oh my god, are you serious?"

Blake nodded, "You're not getting birthday or Christmas presents until you're 30"

Brett leaped onto his brother, giving him a ridiculously tight hug, "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,"

Blake pushed Brett off of him, "Yeah, yeah, whatever, don't get mushy on me."

The jeweler had packaged the ring and rang the purchase on a card that Brett had only seen his brother use one other time, when he had bought his computer. They grabbed their bags and walked out to the boardwalk travelling towards their vehicle.

"Are you done depleting my checking account now?" Blake inquired

"Hey, technically, I didn't deplete it, you put it on plastic."

Blake punched him in the arm causing Brett to flinch. Brett then jumped on Blake's back trying to knock him off balance. The weight was easily supported with Blake's larger build and he carried his younger down the sidewalk, embarrassing him and foiling his attempts to exact revenge. They got to the car and Blake put his brother down so they could get in the car.

It was four in the afternoon, if they got on the freeway soon enough they could get to their mothers before rush hour hit. Blake had pumped up the volume on the radio and they both danced along to the beat as their car flew down the road towards their Mother's house. The events of the day seemed far from their minds, but as they got off the freeway, they realized they were going to confront her about one of the problems that had made them so upset earlier.

They took several back roads after pulling off the main drive. Their mom had lived in the same place their whole life. With their father gone for years and Blake out of the house, the manor had seemed huge for just two people. It wasn't until they pulled up to the house that they noticed another car that wasn't familiar in front of the driveway. The brothers weren't counting on company and figured it would just have to wait until they left.

Blake had popped the trunk letting Brett grab his bags and they made their way up the steps to the brown manor that stood before them. Brett shuffled his hands through his pockets trying to find the key to the front door. The bags were hindering his efforts as Blake pushed past him and simply opened the door, "You dork, Mom never locks the door if she's home."

Brett chuckled, embarrassed. He sat his bags on a side table that sat near the door.

"Mom?" he said loudly, trying to decipher where in the house she was. The boys walked past the entrance where the living room was and towards the back in the dining room, "Mom?"

No answer, perhaps she was on the phone or out of earshot. The boys walked through the dining room into the kitchen. On the marble island of the large kitchen sat a piece of paper. The boys walked over to it and Blake read it aloud.

"Dear boys, I'm sorry I can't make it, something very important came up. I'll be gone for a few days, I transferred some money into both of your accounts. I love you. Mom"

Brett turned his head towards Blake, his hands both palm facing down on the counter, "Why would she leave us money, how long is she going to be gone?"

"I'm not sure," Blake said, turning back to him, "but any time long enough to leave money can't be good."